think,' exclaimed she, 'of standing under the shadow of a white rose
tree! What an exquisite fragrance! And what a beautiful flower! so
pale, and white, and tender, and the petals thin and smooth as silk!
What rose is it?'--'Don't you know? Did you never see it before?
It is rare now, I believe, and seems rarer than it is, because it
only blossoms in very hot summers; but this, Emily, is the musk
rose,--that very musk rose of which Titania talks, and which is
worthy of Shakspeare and of her. Is it not?--No! do not smell to
it; it is less sweet so than other roses; but one cluster in a vase,
or even that bunch in your bosom, will perfume a large room, as it
does the summer air.'--'Oh! we will take twenty clusters,' said
Emily. 'I wish grandmamma were here! She talks so often of a musk
rose tree that grew against one end of her father's house. I wish
she were here to see this!'

Echoing her wish, and well laden with musk roses, planted perhaps in
the days of Shakspeare, we reached the steps that led to a square
summer-house or banqueting-room, overhanging the river: the under
part was a boat-house, whose projecting roof, as well as the walls
and the very top of the little tower, was covered with ivy and
woodbine, and surmounted by tufted barberries, bird cherries,
acacias, covered with their snowy chains, and other pendent and
flowering trees. Beyond rose two poplars of unrivalled magnitude,
towering like stately columns over the dark tall firs, and giving a
sort of pillared and architectural grandeur to the scene.

We were now close to the mansion; but it looked sad and desolate,
and the entrance, choked with brambles and nettles, seemed almost to
repel our steps. The summer-house, the beautiful summer-house, was
free and open, and inviting, commanding from the unglazed windows,